


Don't Take Off the Gloves

by cmorgana



Series: tumblr is my doom [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Athos dressed as Dolokhov, Gloves, Gloves kink, Leather Kink, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 07:50:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5735596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmorgana/pseuds/cmorgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dirty roll in the hay. Athos has gloves, Aramis has kinks.<br/>Read the tags and you'll get a better idea of what will be going on ;)<br/>(What, you still didn't know I'm bad at summaries?) </p><p>I'm posting this as part 2 of a serie but you don't really have to read part 1, they're just pwp thus they're stand alone, it's a serie just because they're all from ideas born on tumblr, all because of Dolokhov, Tom's character in War and Peace, and since I'm on vacation I can write porn and create - in my mind - a whole universe for it (yes, I've a whole universe because of two short porn ficlets, ahaha)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Take Off the Gloves

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to stop, I tried to go back to more serious stuff and to finish what I already started, but then Dolokhov happened, with his tight leather pants and the gloves...and then Tumblr happened, which is almost worst than Dolokhov, so I had to write this. Once more I wrote it in the middle of the night and once more I edited it with people distracting me, so it probably is even worse than usual and even that the last one, but by now you're used to it :P

The stables are empty so late in the night, only the horses, quiet in their tiredness, their breath heavy and hot, and still Athos knows something is different the moment he sets foot on the hay covered floor. He couldn't tell what, but the hairs on his neck seem to stand, warning him that something is off. A cautious hand travels to the hilt of the sword, slowly pulling it out, his senses focused on the room.

His horse doesn't seem to care, though, with a faint neigh he proceeds to his stall, and that's the moment Athos is sure he can hear it, a different kind of breath, a lighter sound, almost too light, too subtle to hear, and yet his instinct yells at him that there is someone else in that stable.

"Come out now, I know you're hiding", he commands, his pistol a reassuring weight on his flank, making him feel safe even without his over clothes on. A rustle on his right makes him hold his sword tighter, but the faint breathing sound soon turns into a light laugh.

"Keep your voice down, you'll upset the horses", Athos doesn't even realise he relaxed his sword arm at the first hint of that voice, so familiar and loved. Another rustle in the dark and a moment later the man is in front of him, the pale moonlight bathing him, reflecting on his naked chest.

"Aramis…", a name, a prayer, a reprimand, Athos isn't even sure, eyes fixed on that infinite expanse of naked skin made slightly damp by the horses breath and the warm night, "I wasn't expecting to find you here", he keeps going, trying to save himself from the embarrassment of admitting how his body is already reacting, and Aramis smiles, a smile everything but innocent.

"I was the one expecting you, in fact", he offers, taking the few steps that divides them, stopping close enough that their breaths mingle, "Porthos told me you wanted to ride a little and try some moves you heard about, I knew you were going to arrive late at the stables, when others were no longer around."

Athos smirks hearing those words, doubts definitely erased from his mind. He caresses Aramis' cheek with his free hand, the other still holding the sword, the cold metal glistening in the dim light.

"Shall I consider this an ambush?", he teases and he can pinpoint the second Aramis' eyes turn darker, the moment sanctioning there's no turning back.

Aramis raises his hand to touch the other man's arm, the cotton rough under fingers that travels down to the wrist, to the hand holding the sword and then lower, to gently grab the blade.

"Should I consider myself your prisoner?" he taunts again, feeling Athos hand tightening on the sword as the blade slightly vibrates in his palm, but his teasing play has a short life, because a moment later the hand that caressed his face just seconds before is around his throat, too gentle to hurt, just heavy enough to let him feel the force, to let him smell the scent of the leather.

"I think I should make you sorry, then, don't you think?" it comes out of Athos' lips with the tone of a menace, and yet both men know it's more of a promise when Athos pushes him backwards, hand still snuggle around his throat.

Aramis back hits the wall of one of the empty stalls, the hay soft under his boots, enough to muffle the sound of the sword hitting the ground. There's more light there, just under one of the windows, and Aramis takes his time to really look at Athos, hair dishevelled by the riding, wearing only a black shirt in the hot night, open on the sweaty chest, but the hand around his throat distracts him before he can look lower.  
"You like what you see, Aramis?" the hold suddenly tighter but with the thumb Athos caresses the delicate skin, almost reassuring himself, more than Aramis, that it's just a game, that not mark will be left on the man he loves.

"I'd like better to taste than to look", Aramis shoots back and Athos smiles because here it is his Aramis, the cheeky, dirty, man he loves so much. With a laugh Athos frees him, taking a step back, arms open in a clear invitation.

"Then go ahead, please. Start taking off whatever you like" and Aramis goes to him, closer, chest to chest, as a moat to a flame, sure nothing would be more delicious that the fire Athos is going to put in him.

"Where's the trick?" he asks, lips exploring the older man ear, going down to be scratched by the rough beard on his cheek.

"No trick, I can't properly fuck you with all those clothes on, can't I?" Athos murmurs in a casual tone, as if his words couldn't possibly go straight to Aramis cock, the cock that he feels getting harder by the second against his leg, and Aramis takes his breath a few times, tries to speak, but no words come out of his mouth until, resigned, he takes a step back, letting his eyes roam freely over Athos, almost drooling on the too tight leather pants.

It's a matter of seconds before the black shirt is gone, forgotten on the hay, and hungry hands are exploring the bare torso, teasing and touching. Athos closes his eyes, losing himself in the caress, all the tension from the day slipping off him. He always feels like that in Aramis hands, like everything is okay, like he's finally home after centuries of wandering.

Aramis hands travels on his flanks, going down to the hem of the pants just to reach up again, slowly, followed by warm and wet lips, and Athos can't help himself but reach down for Aramis, to stroke his face, those wet lips now closed around his nipple. Aramis smirks, blowing cold air on the hard nub before leaving it alone.

"You're still wearing too many clothes, Comte", and for a second Athos thinks about stopping him, about telling him off for using that title he hates so much, but before he can even open his mouth to talk Aramis' is on his groin, kissing his hard cock through the black leather, hand now scratching at his hips, long, red stripes Athos knows he's going to feel for days under the uniform, making him hard every time he'll so much glance at Aramis.

With a single finger Aramis pops open the few buttons keeping the trousers closed, looking happily surprised not finding something under them, then he looks up, eyes dark with lust, to search for Athos' eyes, equally dark, and with a grin he bites on the leather, opening the pants more, pulling the fabric lower and lower until his eyes leave Athos' to look down, at the cock so slowly revealed, like a precious gift.

One second, not an heartbeat more, and Athos grabs his face, thumb caressing those sinful lips once more.

"Stop teasing, I know of better uses for that perfect mouth of yours" Aramis answer is to suck on the finger touching him, to lick the leather of the glove. With a final bite he lets the thumb go.

"Don't take these away", it's Aramis turn to give orders, it seems, and Athos loves it, something that rarely happens, but that always brings great things with it.

Just like he stopped Aramis goes back to peel off the tight pants, both with mouth and hands, touching nothing more than the leather, intent on getting rid of them. For a moment he sits on his heels, taking off Athos boots and then he's back on his knees, pants now down to Athos feet, waiting only to be kicked away.

Slowly Aramis licks an imaginary line from Athos belly to his hipbone, stopping there to bite down, scraping his teeth on the too tender skin just to hear Athos moan, knowing the moans will only get louder when the bite will travel down, almost as a scratch, to close again on the thin skin of the inner thigh. He licks and suck, smiling when his moustaches scratch at Athos balls, eliciting a long groan. Aramis knows his lover's body, he knows that's the sign he has to up his game. Still smiling he licks the underside of Athos' cock, reaching for the head, slowly teasing the foreskin with just the tip of his tongue before he licks at the slit, lapping away the first drops of Athos' lust and that works as a charm, in a moment both hands are in his hair, forcing him down, and Aramis obeys. He takes the hard cock in his mouth, letting it slip between his lips more and more, just that, without even sucking, until he feels it hitting his throat. Aramis looks up, searching for Athos gaze, finding it a moment later, dark with need.

"You can do better", Athos murmurs, his voice rough, as if he is the one with the mistreated throat. His legs are shaky, his hands desperate in the disarrayed curls around his fingers. He needs more, he needs that silky mouth more than air, and he's lucky, because Aramis doesn't need more than a glance to know and he smirks around him before relaxing his throat and taking all of him, as if it's the easiest thing in the world, as if he's born to do just that. Just for Athos. Born to perfectly fit around him. Inside him. With him.

This time Aramis doesn't tease, he sucks and plays with his tongue, licking around the head every time he goes back to breath, just to then swallow again, his nose brushing the damp curls between Athos' legs.

Athos tangles his fingers even more in the silky hair, tugging and yet pushing. It'd be so easy to lose himself, to end that sweet torment and spend in that hot throat, but he's not ready for that, so many things still to do that night. With a tormented groan he pulls Aramis away from him with enough force that the man has to sit back on his heels, lips and chin obscenely wet, eyes huge.

"How, then?" Aramis asks, his breath so fast he can barely talk and Athos does the only thing any man would, he shoves two gloved fingers in his mouth, already missing that sinful lips around his cock.

"Now you strip, fast, because I need to be inside you", the words of a desperate man, his skin burning as if on fire while Aramis grabs his wrist to suck on his fingers better, licking at the leather between them.

It takes just a few moments before Aramis gets up, still deft as a cat. With a gracious grin he takes a vial from his pocket, closing Athos hand around it before he starts to work on his own clothes.

The moment he's naked Athos is over him, pushing him back to fall over a huge hay ball before falling on his own knees between Aramis spread legs. Athos bends to map that perfect body with mouth and hands, watching Aramis follow him in a sensual dance, throat bared, back bent backwards to be closer to Athos touch.

"Aramis…watch", is all Athos can say, fingers wet with oil and lungs burning in need of air. Aramis opens his eyes, heavy with lust, watching at the hand disappearing between his thighs. A second later two fingers slowly breach his body.  
It's far from the first time, probably closer to the hundredth, but Athos has never worn gloves before. It's a new sensation, rougher than bare fingers, the leather, even oiled, almost catching on the tight ring of muscles, forcing it to accept the intrusion at every thrust.

They both look down, enchanted by the sinful show, by the indecent sound of the greased glove exploring inside Aramis body, but when Athos adds one more finger and starts rubbing the perineum with his thumb, Aramis falls backwards, collapsed on the soft hay, barely able to breath.

"Are you ready, 'Mis?" the short nickname that never fails to make Aramis smile, the one that lets him know how lost his lover is. Aramis nods. He's been ready for a while now, but when the fingers slowly slip out of his body he almost mourn them, accompanying the loss with a grunt, "It's okay, I'm here", Athos murmurs, now against his ear, knowing Aramis never liked those few seconds of emptiness, remembering a confession, a long time before, about Aramis always feeling that loss as if his lover has decided he was no longer interested in him. Not that it could ever happen with Athos, he'd die before leaving Aramis and he hopes Aramis knows.

"Please, Athos, I need you", voice too thin, too desperate, for the great master of seduction, the one who once had all the women of Paris ready to kneel in front of him, but who now feels totally vulnerable in the hands of Athos, needy, and yet sure his every desire will be fulfilled.

Athos moans when he's finally pushed against him, their skin touching with nothing in between, in the most intimate way. He closes his eyes, bathing in the sensation, feeling as if he's breathing for the first time in days now that he's one with Aramis again, but when Aramis grabs his cock to guide him inside, Athos stills his wrist.

"Wait. I haven't kissed you properly yet", probably to most wouldn't ever makes sense, but it makes to the two of them, both of them knowing how a kiss can be a lot more intimate than all the sex in the world, both of them far away from all the loveless sex without kissing they had in their past. And an intimate kiss it is, slow and sensual and yet desperate of the things to come, lips and tongues, barely an hint of teeth to tease Athos' lower lip. A silent kiss, replacing a whispered "I love you".

It takes them long seconds to regain their breath, and just then Aramis strokes Athos again, this time guiding him at his entrance without being stopped.

Athos slides in the way he kissed him, languid and steady, equally full of love and desperate passion. He stops for just a moment, making sure Aramis is okay, caressing his face, smiling tenderly when the man turns to kiss the palm of his gloved hand, but the moment Aramis' legs fasten around his hips Athos is done, lost in his need, in the hot velvet jerking him off, each stroke punctuated by a desperate moan from Aramis, undone under him, skin glistening with sweat, arms over his head to grab at the hay.

They move like a dance, Athos pulling out just for Aramis to follow him and drag him in again with a push of his hips, mouths open, both too short of breath to do anything more than moan, but the moment Athos hands closes around Aramis' cock the rhythm falters, the sensual dance lost in a desperate run toward that perfect pleasure, Aramis hips keep moving faster and faster, split between the need of feeling Athos inside him and the rough leather around his dick.

Moments turn into hours, that turn back into seconds, and just like that Aramis is coming, with a scream that makes all the horses neigh, while Athos lets go of any rhythm, just desperate to lose himself in the pleasure, to feel more, to reach that fire he can almost see. And finally he comes, bent over Aramis, face squashed against his lover's throat in a press of mouth that is almost a kiss.

For long minutes neither of them moves, then Athos carefully slides out, laying near Aramis. With a disgusted grunt he takes off his gloves, throwing them carelessly on the floor. Aramis smiles, still too tired to really laugh.

"You owe me new gloves"

"They'd end up the same, just wash those", Aramis pauses, already thinking of where to find a pair of less refined, rougher, gloves, then slowly turns toward Athos, kissing his shoulder, "you weren't wearing your small clothes, why did you go riding half naked? it isn't comfortable, I know" this time it's Athos turn to smile

"Porthos" Aramis frowns, confused, and Athos kisses him, a short peck, just because he can, "he told you where to find me, but he also told me you were in a…mood". 


End file.
